


Affinity

by Voidmancer



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Minor Canonical Character(s), No Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:44:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voidmancer/pseuds/Voidmancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Nathan Boyle, depressed and utterly at a loss as to what he must do to alleviate his spirits when neither drink nor women could do the trick, comes across the young Prince of Tyvia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Affinity

**Author's Note:**

> The in-game book of which this work is inspired, _The Young Prince of Tyvia_ was one of the things that I loved about Dishonored. Not only because this book was placed in strategic locations as the developers' big neon sign to pointing out who was homosexual in-game, but also because the whole scene, though impossibly short, was very much entertaining. So here's a bit of expanding on that particularly suggestive scene. I can't write screenplays for the life of me, but prose is something I'm better at. : >
> 
> Dialogue from the first chapter was lifted entirely out of the in-game book.

The Young Prince of Tyvia

Lord Nathan Boyle returned home early that evening, unable to fully wrap his mind at how he had been in the Golden Cat, had hired a lovely girl for the evening and found that even the sight of a beautiful girl, with all her soft curves, scant clothing and eyes darkened by desire, he could not even bring himself to do anything. He thought it would be a solution, as when one sought discreet companionship without the minor inconveniences so usually attached to such arrangements, the most apt decision was to visit the brothel. Yet all he could do there at that room at the Golden Cat, sitting amidst the cloying sweet scent of perfume that masked the scent of coupling permeating the walls and furniture, was to sit. No amount of heated looks, honeyed words or caresses could ignite any desire in him and, suddenly tired of it all, Nathan simply rose from his seat on the bed, paid the girl and went on his way home.

Home. If the word would have been spoken through the halls of his manor, it would echo though the halls as hollow as it actually meant now to Nathan. This was but a place of four walls and a roof, occupied by servants and a daughter. His house, grand as befitting his position as a noble, but not enough as to flaunt his wealth. Not entirely anyways, as his late wife had an eye for decorating and had ensured well before her passing that the house’s interior would look splendid.

Nathan sighed, the entire house reminded him of her and each thought of his poor beloved wife sank his spirits deeper into depression. Perhaps other men would have turned to drowning in drink to relieve their sorrows, or drown in the pleasures of the flesh as provided by purchased services from women, but as he had just returned from the latter and the former had gotten Nathan to a point where he might burst from drink as bottles upon bottles of whisky were scattered about him in the family common room and yet he was only halfway to drunken oblivion. Needless to say, neither of the two had been particularly effective means of achieving what he wanted and Nathan was in for another long sleepless night.

The thought simply clouded over Nathan’s mood all the more and he wondered as he went up the stairs what other means he might possibly employ to reach the oblivion he so craved when a flash of gold entered his peripheral vision. Not a servant, surely, as he did not remember having anyone in his household with such brilliant hair. It was not his imagination either, surely. Nathan made to search for the perceived intruder. A thief, perhaps? No, it was too early for thieves to be about, honestly. So who, then?

Turning to a doorless threshold that lead into the family common room, Nathan was promptly taken aback at the sight before him. A young man was seated one of the two cushioned sofas by the fireplace, dressed in nothing but a pair of trousers, the placket of which was most ostentatiously undone. For the first time in a long while, Nathan Boyle felt a strong emotion other than utter despair. 

He recognized the young man. A Tyvian from the few parties he had attended for the past weeks but never had the chance to fully meet his acquaintance, not that he had been interested even though he was royalty, a prince. The knowledge did little to diminish the boiling of his blood. He could very well guess what this young man had been doing.

“How dare you, sir, clothed so in my very home?!” Lord Nathan Boyle said loudly, his whole being shaking with outrage. “I should hand you over to the Watch, depraved Tyvian!”

The Prince Kallisarr barely flinched at the indignant threat and neither did he so much as move from his sitting position. He did turn his head to Nathan, blond hair spilling onto the back of the couch like silken gold. He said nothing for a moment as he studied the man looming over him, a small smile curving his lips as he did so. Whatever he was searching for in Nathan, he seemed to have found it most pleasing. Kallisarr rose and moved closer. “That's a harsh welcome for royalty, m'lord,” he drawled, moving to Nathan like a predator towards cornered prey. “Your daughter treated me with much more hospitality,” he smirked, his gray eyes sparkling with the boldest expressions of mischief Nathan had ever seen in recent memory. 

“Alas,” Kallisarr cried dramatically, although he did not sound so sorry, reaching a hand out to undo Nathan’s cravat and the pin that held it in place. “She has gone out for the evening, leaving me all alone.” He tugged on the piece of cloth and jewelry and let them both fall to the floor. Kallisarr then reached for the buttons of the man’s shirt.

Nathan, scandalized at the gesture took a step back on instinct, eyes wide. His heart pounded in his chest. Was it fear, or excitement? By the Outsider’s void black eyes, what was Kallisarr doing and what possessed him to simply stand there and let the prince do such things? “Wh-What are you doing?” he stammered, stepping back even further. “Leave this house! Go back to your frozen wasteland, pale rascal!”

Kallisarr only smiled in reply to the banishment and the subsequent insult. He reached out a hand to Nathan, smiling coyly, gray eyes filled with enticement, with unspoken promises of decadent pleasure beyond Lord Nathan Boyle’s wildest imaginations. “No need for anger between us, Lord Boyle. Is it so wrong for me to be here?” He took hold of Nathan’s coat and drew closer, deft fingers so skillfully undoing buttons and revealing skin. “As I've proven, I've developed an affinity for you and your family.” He reached within the folds of Nathan’s shirt, placing a firm hand onto Nathan’s strong chest and caressing downwards.

Nathan gasped at the fire of the touch. One single touch and Kallisarr had been able to bring to life what the expensive whore in the Golden Cat could not. “Oh, my,” Nathan breathed, suddenly wanting for air. “Kallisarr, your skin is so warm, it burns.”


End file.
